


In The Valley Of The Takers

by R_L_Williams



Category: Original Work
Genre: 18th Century, F/M, Female Protagonist, Feminist Themes, Forest Witch - Freeform, Horror, Oregon Trail, Original Fiction, Period Peice, Psychological Horror, Sex Worker, Thriller, Victorian, girls supporting girls, pioneer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2018-11-11 12:51:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 26
Words: 18,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11148798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_L_Williams/pseuds/R_L_Williams
Summary: in a small pioneer settlement in the 1840's over the Bitterroot mountains. a town is ravaged by attacks from people called "the takers". humans coming in the night murdering and kidnapping members of the town. with only a handful ever returningrather than deal with the issue the elders of the town impose unhelpful strictureslocal adolescents tire of losing loved ones and it all comes to a head when a young girls best friend goes missing(whats currently posted is unedited pieces from the first draft. the whole draft isnt posted but will be eventually. as well as all consecutive drafts. i apologize for my dyslexia induced spelling and grammar errors but editing is a Herculean task for another day)





	1. The Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> journal entry of the main protagonist where she remembers a night The Takers came

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gave this a slight edit still a pretty rough draft but its better than nothing  
> comments make the world go round  
> have a nice day

the beginning   
ours is a small town encircled by a dense forest in the shadow of a formidable mountain. our forlorn homestead is enshrouded by old town - the decaying homes of the dead, The Taken. homes of long gone loved ones left to disintegrate before our eyes. a voiceless but none the less vociferous reminder of all this town had lost. rather than tear the houses down and set their memory to rest the Elders built the childs wall, the 4' of brick used to block old town from the eyes of the young children. by the time they could see over it they had been taught not to ask questions and oh what questions one could ask about this peculier patch of earth.  
i had a dream last night, a terrible dream The Takers came.  
everyone has the nightmares...no one talks baout them. yet every marreid person knows the particular pitch of their spouses screams when terror rends them their sleep. the worst thing about the takers is that they are not demons or monsters. they aren't creatures from the depths... they are humans...more than likely pushed to the ragged edge of their psyche by...Lord only knows what. everyone is scared of them especially the council ... i think The Takers make them feel powerless. i think that scares them more than The Takers themselves. mind you, i would be lying, bold face lying if i said i wasn't scared, if i said those hands weren't the things that rip me from a good nights sleep. i donsent help that i remember a time before the Taking resumed...back when they were naught but a ghost story. the imorphus boogey man meant to fright us poor imaginative children to obedience. Grandpere would tell us stories of the Hollow King and his shaking Queen and their mountain fortress filled with an army of bloodthirsty gurilluea warriors who come in the night to kill and kidnap the townsfolk taking them away to their stoney stronghold never to return. as to the orgins of these goulish characters; everyone had their own version of the story so, the listener was free to pick the genisis account that suited one best. though he told the stories like a factual biblical account rather than a bedtime story even then i knew grandpere was a storyteller to the core. he could spin a tall tale higher than anyone; even friends of the family where aware of Grandperes perspicasity for elaborate, factually loose fairytales. so all things considered i never took his fables to be anymore than what they were. untill the day his stories made themselves manifest. i fear for my sister who has never known a time before The Takings. i fear for a girl as sweet as she growing up in a place like this. perhaps it is easier for her since its all shes ever known. this is her normal. though ive grown used to the costums this fearsom situations requires of its citizenry i shudder to think of a day where this may all seem normal to me. i pray im always able to hold on to the memory of the time before the takers. i remember...the first time she asked about them. she couldn't have been more than 5, sitting at the dinner table...  
"mommy who are the takers" the color left my parents faces at such a speed that it was almost untraceable, like they had always been that pale...always been that scared. like a corpse grey skined and frozen with rigor jaw locked tight by thir own embalming trepidation. yet, even more clearly than that, more clearly than their fear...i remember ...the first time they came. it was the autum proceding my 6th birthday. like most natural disasters they came without warning it wasn't until one heard the screaming that one would know they were here...and no one was safe. some safer than others by merit of extreme youth or age but no on could really count on that to protect them from the bare hands of The Takers. i remember our neighbor, her wailing when she woke to find The Takers with their hands on her little girl. i remember my mum coming into my room her eyes sick with terror  
"come with me, hurry" she lead me and my infant sister to our kitchen "help me move this" she said shakily putting her hand on the kitchen island. i walked over to help, with my hands on the counter that's when i saw it, through the window; the chaos, people running through the streets, jumping off of roofs and out of windows, all being chased by dark figures whos movements were shrouded in silence they gave chase but made no desernable sound.  
"Lizzie!" my father hissed as he walked into the room with my older brother and a hatchet in hand. together we moved the island revealing a set of rough hewn stairs to a space i didn't even know what there "get in" father instructed. we all climbed down into the dark space with its dirt floor . my dad came in last "Nicholas help me" he and my brother grabbed a metal bar under the island and pushed it back into place. i remember the thud of the locks. Papa turned on the lantern ever so slightly. just enough to cast a sickly amber glow to the small space. one wall had a place to sit or lay the other food and medical supplies ...and the back wall was weapons. sharp,simple, angry, desperate weapons. then they came ...the only warning was the sound of the front door being unlocked. i don't remember the sound of their foot falls but i remeber the sound of their breathing. heavy damp breaths that hung in the hair and coiled themselves around ones ears. you could hear them moving about the room; grabbing knifes and food but other than that they might as well have been gusts of wind. i don't remember how long we were down there in that dark place but after a wait a long...silent wait. a bell rang from the town hall, father unlocked the island and we got out. there were no words exchanged about the night and any attempt to discuss it was met with the full messure of parental discipline. the only indicator of the silent calamity where the people "The Weepers" as we called them. dressed in all grey with their gloves removed sobbing quietly into bare hands as they mourned the loss of people whos names they were no longer allowed to speak. when someone was Taken they died to the community. i guess the council thought it would lessen the blow. all it did was make it fester like an untreated wound.   
i didn't feel the effects of The Taking until i went to school the next day. Angela, my best friend was absent. when i asked the teacher where Angela was she took me by the arm got in my breathing space and said "Angela is dead. we do not speak of the dead." and that was the end of the girl Elizabeth. that was the day the childs' wall went up.   
the next time a Taking would hit this close to home...was when grandepere was taken. i was 8 sitting on the couch playing with some toy or other waiting for lunch...when Grandmere came for an unshedualed vist wearing an ashen grey dress. Grandmere has always been a stoic, stiff lipped woman. but even through the plaster cast of her public face i could see she was upset. that was when i noticed her bare hands. i had never seen Grandmeres hands before. all these clues combined...i knew what had happened without having to be told. nevertheless, father knelt down infront of me, took my hand and told me what i already knew. Angelas taking confused me but my feelings of grief at Grandperes taking would linger untill my early adoleseance and though ive made peace with his passing i still find my self missing him and the childlike purity or our too soon severed realationship.  
as for ym survivng family members. my father is an unassuming man. with unremarkable brown hair and eyes to match. he had a dull nose, flat lips and a blunted chin. his suits where all verying shades of brown or grey. my mother was a woman imprisioned by her role in life. a tedius soul sucking duty which shes fulfills day in day out no matter how much light it takes from her hazel eyes. then there was my beautiful elder brother nicholas. he wasnt tall; per say, but he was taller than me with short hair, sharp eyes and a curling smile. his wit was endless and nothign short of lethal. his sinse of style; bold and creative. a private man capable of playing the extrovert a pensive man of deep feeling who would never admit all the hours he spent in tears. a sensitve boy who knew how to put on a brave face. then there was my little sister imogen. a spunky yet shy youth with golden hair and twinkling eyes. she was sharp as a tack and missed nothing. accept the occasional pun. a contemplative girl with a penchent for drawing people when she ought to eb doing other things. our family like many family had live in service. unlike the homes of the upper class we have more household   
members than servants. nevertheless a single family has served mine for at least 3 generations. a family of irish immigrants. the O'Shaughnessys' michael the father. Shannon the mother Patrick the son and Mariam the daughter. together we live in a peach house in a deceptivally quiet street walking distance from the school. though ive always wanted a house pet mother forebade it the first time i asked to bring a baby deer homeshe said a house pet would just leave me with dirty gloves


	2. Bare Hands Are For Beasts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth recounts a local custom

im not sure exactly when or precisely why the custom took root but all my life i and everyone around me has worn gloves. all day every day save for when bathing or using the outhouse. if your out in public you ware gloves. if your outside of oyur bedroom or the powderoom you wear gloves. when a child was born its common place for friends to give at least one set of adult sized gloves and for family members to gift gloves of lesser size for the child to grown into. so that they will never be without a plothora of hand protection. when a milestone birthday is reached gloves; often growing more ornate as the child ages, are given along with it. during the holidays warm, dry gloves are a staple.  
'bare hands are for beasts' our school marms would recite. thwacking students with rulers anytime someone would try and take their gloves off. it was commen for parrents to cover the hands of infants with soft knit mittens when in public though most children could get away with being bare handed untill htey started attending school at age 5. when a child finished school. gloves suiting their future trade where the standard gift. the student with the highest marks in each level would receive a pair of gloves from the headmaster at the end of the year. at the yearly fair lavish gloves are a common and sought after prize. bare hands are considered such a private matter that typically the only person in ones life who would be permitted to see them would be ones spouce. gloves are the traditional gift exchanged between husband and wife and making an allusions to glove removal was often no more than a referance to the act of coitus. theres a reason the glove maker is the richest man in town. when it came to social class ones rank oculd almost instantly be calcualted by ones gloves. daughters of the wealthy would cluck about their gloves the way girls back east cheep about dresses. there are also glove for every ocassion. white gloves for church, plain gloves of a dark color for school, gloves with traction for dinner to make holding silverwear easier. gloves for gardening and dancing gloves for hiking and gloves for cooking. some people even wear mittens in their sleep lest someone should enter and see them bare handed. some townswomen have even designated certain gloves for menstruation and pregnancy. most women opting for deep reds and pastel pinks during such times. that wasnt the end of it. there were even gloves set aside for eyarly holidays. most oft home made and in seasonal colors.


	3. A Town Called Preston Valley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> description of the town, and its social structure, some backstory and some character monologue

our small, stoic town has two main roads that split the city into 4 distinct quadrants. at the heart of the town a cobblestone square and at its corners the pillars of the community.  
the city hall, the library, the school, and the church.  
behind the city hall was the mayors estate and the residence of the elite. with their gated yards, lush gardens, multiple servants and exhaustive glove collections.  
behind the library were the teachers homes and most of the domiciles for the unmarried adult populous. the library; one of the few stone buildings in town, was likewise split into 4 section. the childrens wing. full of picture books and primers. the students hall full of encyclopedias with pages missing and text books with words blacked out. the stacks; that held most of the fiction books and was open to any law abiding citizen over 13. last, the worldly archives, which only the adults or counsel members could access. some spoke of a hidden door way in the library that led to a secret collection of books stashed away in the clock tower. I can not count the hours Katie and I have spent scouring the recesses of that hallowed building for just such an entrance only to come up; unsurprisingly, empty handed. it's a shame; if such a place and there for the books within them should exist i should very much like to read them...though there are many books that do exist that i have yet to read...i suppose i ought to tackle them first. some said these yet undiscovered passageways are how the takers went undetected. tunnels running under the length and breadth of city all the way to the mountain. that's why for the past decade every new house has been built with rocks under the foundation. despite the fact that no tunnels have been found  
behind the provincial school sat all the store fronts,the tradesmens' homes, and all their families. the working middle class if ever such a thing existed.  
Behind the church, the predominance of the town inhabitance. around that like a stone shield the childs wall. then the ghostly clapboard shroud of old town. the dense wood followed and finally, the mountain. the large, en-shadowing, unnamed mountain that jutted; indescribably colossal, into the sky. towering even above its other rocky companions. the peak, eternally painted white by omnipresent snow. the neighboring heights nothing more than jagged rocky peaks for the gods to prick their toes on. from the center of our estranged town there is a singular road leading out of the city and over the mountain but as the mountain is insurmountable most of the year we only get a handful of travelers down said road in the turn of a year. some know it as the mountain road. most know it for what it truly is, the path to the reaping post.  
the reaping post...a crude piece of wood stuck roughly a foot into the ground. with a hole drilled through it near the top; just wide enough to run a chain through. and at the end of the chain, hand cuffs. anyone convicted of a major crime rape, murder, theft of food... was tied to the reaping post....and left for the takers like a slab of already dead meat. the post is strategically stationed just far enough out of town that you cant hear the wailing pleas unless you stand on the edge of old town. much of the community; though usually unstated, judged their hearing by how far away they could stand fromt he edge of town and still hear the screaming. like a roman soldier judging his vision by his awareness of nigh conjoined stars. sometimes it's days before the takers claim them. every once in a blue moon the animals get to them before the takers do. we count them lucky. better mauled by a bear than molested by a taker. every couple of years the chain has to be replaced. as the takers cut the 'criminals' from their cuffs the chain gets shorter and shorter and eventually has to be replaced. the town blacksmith is colloquially known as the 'chain maker' though no one would dare say it to his face; though he had a crude way about him and an even more crude occupation, he was a rather nice man. our towns version of jail was a titular holding cell as any activity villinas enough to warrent punishment was usually answered with a capital sentance  
so this is it. our godforsaken little settlement that has seemingly landed on the wrong side of the Fallen Ones spine. here it sits, here it stands, and here it festers. up to its ears in such merciless, unwavering practices and with no existing system for citizens to do a damn thing about it. God that i were a man in this world. with the power to move my family from this place...but alas the All Mighty has marked me for a different destiny and fashioned me female. what i am; as yet, to do with this...often underestimated source of...dare i say...power...I'm not sure of yet. my guess is like most of the defining moments of my comparatively short life...it will come in that night and either kill me or shadow me all my days. I'm not sure which conclusion i find preferable. as long as those i love reamin unharmed i care very little for what ever fate may befall me.  
despite the omnipresant danger this is a markedly beautiful place to live. to be so throughly encapsualted by the joyus cocofiny of nature is most assuradly a blessign of the highest order. i see more wild animals in a short stroll around the edge of town tahn i would ahve seen upon a lifetime in the city. the feel of a crips breeze unbefouled by city life is incomperable   
as pretty as it is this place is not free from the cumpunction of segregation. men and women were rarely permitted mixed interaction and races avoided mingling. even on the frontier the bounders of physical diffrence remained befuddling reselute. i never saw a dark person at the diner and i never saw a jew set foot in the church. there were no signs. there didnt need to be. people carried the customs of their previous homes with them good and bad. fair and biased. no one talked about it becasue like everything else they had learned not to.  
women here just as women else where were offered limited options in life. compulsury schooling for girls ended at 13 if a girl wished to continue attending school she had to petition the headmaster and his board to do so. even tehn girls were barred from formal schooling after age 16. from thence the obligation of learning lay souly with the girl who was usually kept so busy she wouldnt be left the time or energy to peruse a dropped hankie much less an eucation  
and as for those of differing sexualities. ive never seen a couple of the same gender hold openly hold hands out of romantic love in public. im sure that such couples exist but how they manage the hurdles of romance in hididng is beyond me at present. love is complicted enough without being made to feel like a criminal, a feind or a deviant. being what i am i can only ponder the isolation.


	4. A Boy Named Declin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a character introduction with some harmless fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading  
> comments make the world go round  
> blessings all <3

beth sat in the middle of an isle of desks close to the window. yes it was colder but the view was infinitely better.  
as the teacher carried on and the clock ticked by liz felt bad for not being more attentive. the teacher wasnt unskilled or dull but oh how hte mind is prone to wandering when alowed to gaze out at nature  
the bell signaling the end of yet another school day rang out through the stone building. Elizabeth flung her messenger bag over her shoulder and headed for the schools back exit. reaching into her pocket she pulled out a note  
"meet me at the Old Mans house after school - D " stuffing the note back into her pocket she weaved her way through the buildings and over the childs wall winding her way through the abandoned streets and crumbling homesteads towards a once familiar house. stepping up onto the cracking porch Liz walked through the door  
"Bonjour grand-père" she called out to the empty house pressing a kiss to her fingers and her fingers to a dusty picture of an old man with a proud nose and dark hair.  
"you here Declin" she called...no one replied. Liz shrugged, walking into the den and taking a seat on a worn armchair. unfastening the buttons of her blouse she began her favorite post school ritual. the removal of her corset. she had her corset retrofitted to be opened from the front thank god the maid liked her more than her mother. sliding her arms from the sleeves of her shirt she unhooked the corset with a relieved gasp. pulling it out from under her skirts and out from behind her back she tossed the confining garment to the floor. flopping back into the worn chair she reveled in a few deep unrestrained breaths before continuing her ritual. reaching down, she set to work on the buttons of her spats and the laces of her shoes. pulling them off of her feet. once freed she stretched and wiggled her toes. standing up she reached behind herself and untied her bustle and slipped from her petticoat. standing now in her undershirt, a half slip a long cotton skirt and her button down. stockings retied to hang loosely around her knees. reaching into her bag she pulled out an apple and an brown, hard bound book. curling into the chair she bit into the apple and tore into the book. yet another fanciful tale katie had found buried in the bowels of the wordly archives.  
a chapter passed. and Elizabeth heard foot falls on the rickety porch. closing her book she reached in her bag grabbing a thick but short piece of madrone she had smoothed and stashed in her bag. tip toeing around the familiar house to the foyers blind spot she waited for the visitor to round the corner as the tips of boots peeked out from around the wall and Liz seized the moment; bringing her madrone baton straight to his chest. the center of it meeting the persons sternum with a resounding 'thuack'. Elizabeth stepped out to to meet the intruder  
"OH! DECLIN!"  
"nice shot Liz." the boy replied rubbing the spot where the baton had landed  
"why didn't you say something when you came in!"  
"i wanted to surprise you."  
"since when do I like surprises?"   
"since now." Declin reached in his bag and pulled out a wide book with a grey cover and handed it to her  
"whats this? "  
"its a book."  
"very helpful."  
"try opening it."Declin retorted, Liz stuck her tongue out. creaking open the spine she flipped through the heavy pages. page after page of paintings, drawings sketches and even a few photos of ballet dancers.  
"where did you find this!  
"buried in the womens' section of the Students Hall"  
"what where you doing there  
"what? you don't think your the only book enthusiast here do you?  
"psh." she gave and affectionate shrug, they shared a giggle "its beautiful Declin thank you "   
"your welcome Beth." he replied with a wide, warm smile. Declin was a blessedly handsome youth. standing half a head taller than Elizabeth his green eye were large and round he had black hair that he kept trimmed close on the sides and left to quaff into a natural wave on top. his ovular face and pointed chin were usually clean shaven; mostly at the behest of his mother, be he often got away with a dark dusting of stubble. he was slender but muscular with a trim flat stomach and shapely legs. his arms were toned and dexterous; his smile pristine.   
"you look lovely in all your finery but..." he dragged the back of his hand over the crest of her breast. "I do love seeing you like this." Liz pulled her lower lip into her mouth  
"Declin..."  
"should I stop? " he inquired calmly, pulling his hand to his chest.  
"hmmm...no, i'm just surprised at you."  
"oh, and why is that" he inquired, her lip curled into a mischievous smile.  
"well, normally I'm the one making all the advances" at this she slid her hand around his neck hands coming up to cup the nape of his hair line. pulling him into a soft but imploring kiss.  
"cant let you have all the fun" he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the small, forgotten master bedroom. no need to close the door in an empty house.


	5. Sleep, As Tiresome As Waking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> late night journal entry

i get so sick of the nightmares. of waking up just as, if not more weary than when i went to bed. i spend my days listening for the bell and i spend my nights running for my life from smoeTHING that wants to kill me and lord knows what else. every night i am either visited by the black. that vague blank canvase on the otherside of your eyelids. the open sky of your dreams not yet painted with images from the subconciouse. or i am running and hidin running and hiding running and hiding. and while the location or the danger is not usually the same the ending is. either they kill me or in my dream i make my self fall from a great hight as few things will stop the looping record of the chase. some nights i die more than once in my dreams some nights its jsut one death after another. then i wake and im expected to just get up and go one living.  
sometimes i want to shout 'spent my the whole night running like my life depended on it and im tired.'  
but yet again ive run into another subject im not allowed to talk about. no one wants tohear the horrid way the monsters of my mind of murdered me this week. no one wants to hear every dripping ang gorey detail os my perpetual demise. no one is interested in the places i hid or how long it took them to find me. no one wants to hear about the bare and caloused hands that strangle the serenity from my sleep. sleep is supposed to bring solace mine just seems to add to the list of my fears. just giving me more reasons to be scared. more reasons to comple. to cower like a sheep to the flock. i spend a large part of my waking life contemplating the things i think about in my sleep.


	6. A Singular Survivor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> most don't come back...but what of the ones that do?

only a handful of people ever returned . many die shortly after reaching home; either from exposure to the elements on the journey or from vile mistreatment during their captivity the few who did not die were mad or in a fluctuating stat of catatonia and one...just one returned mostly whole Katherine Forsythe was taken at the age of 12 and returned 8 years later. she had exceedingly pale skin accented by raven black hair. she had a crooked smile and her fore arms were paneled with thick self inflicted scars. she and a hand full of other women lived in a group home on the outside border of the childs wall. though they plied their intimate trade over the walls they lived behind it and always made the most interesting company. their house was tidy but eccentric with splashes of every womans' taste weaving the house into a basket of feminine inclinations. despite the hard realities of their lives their home was a soft place of pillows and silk robes of rosy perfumes and flowing hair a place where these women of the world could unleash the pieces of themselves that were not safe in the hands of the men who sought their skills. ambitious women with sharp tongues and tender hearts to often bruised by people who assumed their worth lay in between their legs.


	7. The Powers That Be

the council consited of any townmebers over 45. though many people were technically council members there was an even more insiler group called the elders; a collection of 12 landowning aristocratic citizens over the age of 65 who held the more palpable sway in the community. at their head Mayor Preston relative of our towns founder Elias Preston. Mayor Preston was a tall woman with grey hair that was always up in some bland bun. She was the adamantine force that kept the town in order. she had taciturn hazel eyes and a gift for making nothing sound complimentary. her son was a loud bombastic youth who could never tell when his jokes were no longer funny an unrepentant alcoholic with a tendancy towards vandalism and violance. it was a well known fact that hte only reason he hadnt been tied to the reaping post yet was becasue his mama was mayor preston. she never smiled at passers by, she was not the type to wave at neighbors but she never missed a day in church even though the spine of her old bible was very much intact. The mayor was a person who knew less than they said and often said more than they knew. a jealous women of a civil green complexion and a petty narcasistic disposition. how they had managed to maintain order and avoid all out mutiny up to this point is beyond me.


	8. Katherine the Librarian

walking in through the librarie side door. beth entered the familiar with its simple brown walls and undecorated wodden shelves. at the center of this quadresected building was desk and at the desk the singular librarian  
"katie" liz called out. large brown eyes peaked out from behind an old book. a beaming smile followed. katherine was one of elizabeths oldest friends . an owner of a kinder heart would be hard to find.  
"Hello! how goes things." kaite inquired conversationally.  
"another day in the sun. what do you know about the history of the towns settlement  
"well you dont waste any time do you   
nope iits something we have in common  
i dont know about that i think im a rather acomplished procrastinator but never mind that... i dont know much about the first settlement but i can help you look. why, what do you need to know.  
"i need to know if anyone from the original settlement is still alive  
"they would have to be imenslely old by now  
"but its possible  
"well sure i suppose its possible  
"fantastice will you look into it  
"certainly but may i ask why   
"just curiouse  
"yes and its that very thing that usually gets you in trouble  
"hey you like my brand of troble thats why were still friends   
sometimes i think oyu ask these favors of me because you know i wont say no  
firstly that dosent make em special you dont say no to anyone. secondly im one of the only people who likes you for more than your willingness to please. thirdly oyu like a good academic seach just as much if not more than i do  
' oh, lizzie why do oyu have to play on my love of learning  
becasue i know it works  
thats crule  
no the reaping post is crule im just beninely manipulative  
Elizabeth taht mouth of yours is oging to get you in hot water one day  
one can only hope


	9. Weeping Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz discusses Preston Valleys unsanctioned day of mourning

today is weeping day. its an unsanctioned holiday that the whole town participates in. everyone goes around in grey and no one wears gloves. its the one day a year the town recognizes its suffering. no names are spoken. no vigils held, tears rarely shed. but you feel it. the whole town sobbing under its breath.shops are closed schools are empty and no one dares serve meat for dinner that night. then as the spring solstice moon reaches its zenith. entire families emerge from their houses to place lanterns on the banisters of their porches. silent luminous pleas for their loved ones to come home, to light their way to safety


	10. The Local Londoner

Bartholomew was a man larger than life. a professor of history,rhetoric and elocution standing close to 6 and a half feet tall with a deep and booming voice that carried even when he did not wish it to. he had large hands thickened by age and injury, long curly hair, a proud noes and legs like the trunk of a tree. even with his great size you would hear him before you saw him his heeled boots ticking out the meternomic step of a 20 year soldier. an incognito physician and a consummate man of the arts he was a notable cook, a notoriously good host, a dancer and singer of stage plays, and a reciter of Shakespear. the number of people who found him disagreeable could be counted and discounted on one hand. no matter where he went someone whould greet him with a hug. a man of mythic elements made from the metal of a bygone era. a textbook romantic with the constitution of a seasoned warrior. an army medic form across the ocean. he rounded his vowels like an Eton graduate and knew things about the Arabian peninsula that pegged him as one of many afghan veterans. unlike the settlments original doctor. he had not office and mostly supported his teaching by making medical house calls. visiting the patients deemed less than worthy by the towns gentrified physician.


	11. A Man of The Old Gods

by the time i met Bruce he was already a man of age with more stories and life events under his belt than most mortals can claim in 4 life times. he was a man who lived through rough times and had thus become rough himself. a vetran of both the war of 1812 and the Civil War where he lost his lower left leg to a canon ball. hes simply put one tough son of a bitch. he had poor hearing and thus spoke loudly. he swore like a sailor but had a multi sylabic vocabulary to back it up. a person raised kith and kin by violence when he said he would kill for you he meant it. he made crude jokes and could out drink everyone ive ever met. a big blonde haired nordic boy often with more love in his chest than good sense in his head. hes a man i would call brave not for his acomplishments in war but for the things hes over come in his day to day life. the god of death has been nipping at this poor boys heels since his infancy and he has somehow managed to keep apace of him. he syas he his eternally dissapointed that he did not die in battle like the gods of his ancestores required but i am quite certain that death has been chacing Bruce lynd for so long he will be more than sated to greet him over the veil as an old friend. for if anyone i know could claim to be a friend and companion to death it would be this man. like most of the intersting people in my life i met him through katie who had come to check on a wound to his remaining calf. she knew he needed help but was unsure of how to handle his sense of humor or manner of speach so she summoned me. ive always enjoyed an friendly chalange. it didnt take me long to uncover his pattern. bruce would eb crude or otherwise blunt. throwing out swear words and sexual inuendo often accompanied by some graphic story from his past. the trick was not to flinch. if you didnt go running for the hills. he would drop the draw bridge and let you in on the less graphic often more interesting stories of his interpersonal life and his even more cloisterd inner world. though he and i are very diffrent we have alot of thing in common and often find ourselves veiwing the world form a similar stand point. even if he comes to it by very diffrent means than i. katie would never admit to dilikeing anyone and that becasue i dont think she really dose but it was evident that bruce and i worked better together than she and he. it took less than a month for his wound to heal but i kept coming over. enthralled by stories from points in time i had only read about. from wars to presidential assainations. this obsenealy open man had lived through some of the most influental moments in our countries history. along with a plethora of personal experiance he was also an avid; all be it slow, reader. on a good day he, not unlike katie, was a walking history book.


	12. The Witching Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i know i use the word hand alot in the opening but there are only so many words in the english language for this multi use appendage so bare with me lol

'if i do profane with my unworthies hand' he heald up his gloved hands 'this holy shrine' he grasped her hands 'the gentle sin is this' he took hold of the middle finger of one glove and pulled it off of her hand repeating the process on her other hand 'my lips two blushing pilgrims ready stand' he lifted her hand to 'to smooth the rough touch with a gentle kiss' he pressed his lips to the backs of her hands  
'good pilgrim' she smiled upa t him. 'you do wrong your hand too much which mannerly devotion shows in this' she pulled the gloves from his hands with the same ceremonic fashion 'for saints ahve hands that pilgrims hands do touch' they pressed their palms together, she gasped at the unfamilira sensation and the heat of his skin 'and palm ot palm is holy palmeers kiss'  
'why then saint let lips do what hands do they pray, grant thou lest faith turn to despair' he replied  
'saints od not move though grant for prayers sake' she added  
'then move not .' he put his bare hand to her cheek 'while my prayers effect i take. thus from my lips by thine , my sin is purged.' they joined at the lips and continued to draw closer as the seconds ticked on. eyes closed, mouths busy, hands working away at the unfamiliar graments of the oposing sex. hair was unbunned. corrests unhooked trouseres unbottoned. the two long time lovers speeded towrd the inevitable when elizabeth caught a distant sound echoing off the valley floor. she froze  
what is it  
did you hear that?" they both forze each scanning the auditory horizon for the all to frequent sounds of danger. the sharp trailings of screme squeezed through the cracks in the house and upon an instant their coiled embrace was replaced with a whirlwind of activity as each person franticly grabbed for their shoes. fingers dating overing hooks and buttons, straps and sleves. as they raceed to redress the sickingly familiar sound of shattering glass clawed its way to theri ears. lizs mentla foreground was flooded with images of takings past. of broken class and splintering wood. of neighboors screams and heavy wet breathing.  
liz! Lizzie. Elizabeth!" declin repeated. "come on we have to go."  
"how much trouble do you think were in  
if we manage to make it home... a lot. theres no way they havent noticed were gone.  
liz lossed her batton and declin clutched his hunting knife as they inched open the front door. the second their eyes met starlight their veiw was blocked by an all to familiar sillouet. the malformed taker raised his curde hacking weapon but was impeded by the implantation of an axe right throught the the top of his skull. blood spit out of the freshly made wound as a friendly voice stepped forward.   
"i was sitting on my porch and i caught this fucker trailing you. i would ask what in hells teeth you where doing out here but i was young once  
bruce we  
hush up an get home ill watch you back.  
and you  
i saw nothing.  
bless you bruce  
he gave a curt nodd and leaned up against the age'd railing of the deck.   
as they toed theri way back to their street. they avoided any assailents and before they could reach home   
the bell had rang the taking was supposed to be over but apparently on this bloddy occasion not all of the demons made it back to bald mountain. when it happened it happened quickley stunning the onlooking crowd into a stalk still state of petrification.  
first the scream then the shattering of glass and hte cracking of wood. then a blured ball of body parts rolling out the window through the banister off the porch and down onto the muddy street below. as the mangled mass of limbs sorted it self out the bodys of a taker and Mrs. Bruchner; a schoolteacher, could be distinguished. each clawing at the other in the slick waterlogged ground. each trying to get hte upper hand. the taker rolled Mrs bruchner onto her back. hands flopping out to the side fingers landing on a jagged paice of the broken bannister. clutching it in her fist the quite neighboor lady ran the wooden stake through the takers throat sending blood spattering. as the twitching taker colapsed to the ground and breathed his last. mrs bruchner took stalk of the scene before her and the panorama around her. there she sat in a slop of blood tinged mud with every eye of nearly every home on the block on her. as the fight died the whispers drew breath. mrs bruchner scanned the space and then on shaking legs with trembeling hands she staggered back to her house without a word. no one lifted a hand to assist, but no one hesitated moving their lips once the dirty work was done. i dotn know if anyone has ever killed a taker...in public...in thier nighty certainly a story for the ages. church will undoubtedly be a noisy affire this sunday. before the sun could illuminate this gruesome scene the morticians came without being called and carried the corpse away like vultures clensing the area before it oculd 'infect' anything. taker or no it was a body needing disposal and lord knows the council wasnt going to dirty thier silver gloves for something so vile as the bloddy body of bestaked taker.  
liz and declin waded through the crowd. each persons mother picking them out of the onlooking hoard.  
the verbal lashing ellizabeth recived was the same diatraibe given to vagrent adolesents since time immemorial. one muses that if jeasus had been the time to wander without permission his mother would have given him this same speech.  
the one upside to this situation was that mother was so happy that she wasnt dead she all but ignored the fact that liz was obviously engaging in 'unladylike' behaviour.


	13. Child of Death

oddly enough even in a death soked city like ours...a morticians job is still viewd as a ghastly bit of work. with the job often flowing from father to son in unbroken sucession. as not many people in this death avoidant community can handle the thought of looking at a dead body much less touching it. were a town full of people who have never been taught how to mourn even those who get taken by the good lord and not by one of satens silent footed henchmen. for the perdominance of the towns inhabitance death is a thing they are almost wholly incapabale of fathoming. our last morticain was a surley man with a drinking problem who never sired any children let alone sons. then, about a decade ago a small wagon train carrying; umong them a French family with a mortician at its head came down out of the mountains. the party stayed for a week and carried on deeper into the oregon territory but the Sinclares as they were called stayed and took up residance in the morticians cottage near the cemetary. 5 years into their stay his wife took on a fever and died shortly after. leaving him and his biological daughter to carry on the family buisness. i dont know much else about the master mortician himself but as for his child we are near in age and thus met at school. though the offspring of a mortician they are of a sprightly disposition with raven black hair and naturally cool toned fair skin. named Jaquline at birth but to any person whom they count friend they are Jaque. we met in the headmasters office. both in trouble for voilations of dressing ettiquite. i for not covering my hair during school hours and they for not wearing a corsset and for wearing trousers. but even with their out of code dress the thing i noted about them was their eyes. one a calicfied emerald green the other a smokey blue all this enigma wrapped up with a bow like smile. like every other black sheep in town katie befriended them without question and iwould often catch Jaque on thier way out of the library. employed by death adn life they are one of the foremost caretakers of the community garden and will frequently stop to scribble a drawing of a plant in thier pocket book  
when i asked their father how they felt about Jaques inclinations he replied. i asked for a son and i recived one just not in the manner i anticipated  
when i asked Jaque as to the sorce of their preferances they replied. why must i be male or female cant i just be called human is that not sufficient. they have a habbit of making plain things that have perpetually slipped passed my notice making them wholly invaluable as a companion


	14. Just a Little Unwell

the Unwells where all the people who couldnt cut living in this hypicratical choker of a town. i hope one day we have names for every ailement of the mind but as it stands they are breanded unfit for social interaction and sent to live in old town.   
old town may techincally be abandoned but between the working girls the unwells and all the youth that gather in the empty homes sometiems i think old town is more populated than our actual city  
some of the unwells where just anti-council. too insabordinate to exist harmonously within the bounds of the councils rigirous ordinances. many where those who had lost someone to a taking and had lost thier wits to the grief. these poor stricken people deserve a better fate than this shallow likeness of bannishment. unsuprisingly the history of this alienating practice can be easily trace back to the founder himself. shortly after his 60th birthday he started ahving horriable night terrors. he would often wake in a screaming fit. rattling off haunting tales of a disembodied voice trailing through his subconcious. spinning tales of a future he would not live to see his daughter, then no older than 30 tried to quiet him but he shortly took to ahrrasing neighboors with is stories of fast approching doom. when his dear daughter tried to stop this he resorted to wandering the streets shouting like a town crier. the liteny of her fathers late life escabades climaxed in him wandering about preston street in not but his nether clothes waving a familial saber shouting about righting wrongs and getting what we deserve. he tried to climb the statue of himself and sprined his aging ankle in. falling to the ground knocking himself unconciouse his mortifed daughter used this time to have him branded 'unwell' she took control of his estate and but him on was effectively houe arrest in all but name. preston valley was under a genetic Regencey. logic of the day would dictate the power should pass to prestons husband but she would not hear of such a thing though she would have required it of any other female in the valley.


	15. A Witch By Any Other Name

if i tell you something will you promise not to think me mad  
impossiable you hint of madness is one of your best qualities  
very funny chy, but genuinely i have a though i feel compelled to act on and...i want to let you know before i do anything lest i shouldnt come back  
what?! not come back why would you nto come back?!  
im going to go visit the witch  
are you crazy  
not last i checked  
what if she works with the takers   
i highly doubt  
what if she hexes or curses us  
really katie ive never known you to be supersticiouse  
well if shes not dangerouse how has she survived out there on her own for so long how has she not been taken   
i dotn know but thats what im going to find out  
elizabeth  
katherEEEENE  
katie rubed her foot in the dirt. mind turing over all the ways this could go wrong  
oh fine but im coming with oyu  
lemme guess osmeone has to keep an eye on us  
yes someone dose  
heaven help you kate  
they crossed the childs wall and reached the edge of old town and stopped flat. 10 feet of cleared land lay between them and the tree line. in the middle a sign with the council symbol for 'keep out off limits'. the girls examined the sign then looked at each other  
well ive never been one to abide by council decree  
yes and thats why you end up in the headmasters office so much  
'look' cheyanne pointed to a space just to the right of the sign. a small foot path peakig out through the woodline  
do you think thats the way  
'your guess is as good as mine' witht tha the three women shrugged and headed into the forest . the pasth was crude and showed signs of something heavy being dragged  
as they wound through the thick underbrush and deep rooted trees they were greeted by animal skulls and apendages bones dangling from tree branches. strange unreadable symbols were carved into the bone and unnamed hearbs swayed from them. as they neared their destination the grisly decoration increased in number and explicetness  
on the barks of granery trees grotesque, primitive symbols where carved into the decaying bark. like necromancic tattooing  
rounding a small bend they came to a rough clearing near the edge, a log and stone homestead tate looked liek a fankenstinien monster made of useful parts of homes from old town. a thin chimbly seeped grey smoke. and cracked singlle paned windows gave hints of movement within. no sooner hadn teh group entered the space then their presance was made known. a thin line of string was strung up roughly 4 inches from the ground all the way around the encampment. when ankle met string sharp little bells cut through the trees sending a flock of near by birds to flight. the sound was quickley followed by the heady bark of a large but as yet unseen canine. moments later a woman exited the hut. brandishing a sythe. a d a battel cry more annoyed thatn scared. upon seeing the group she stopped. she was not a tall woman but her presance towered over them she had brown hair with streaks of grey. she wore a thread bear shawl and multipul skirts. a pouch ladden belt encircled her hips. her eyes where painted black with charcole. her hands covered in some type of plant  
one of oyu pregnate'  
'no  
'then what are you doing here'  
'we need your help'  
'with what'  
'the takers'  
at this the woman froze on the head of pin. walked back inside and shut the door. the thudding sound of a door jam hitting their ears.  
'great we scared away the witch'  
maam  
go away  
we jsut want to talk  
talking leads to thinking thinkin leads to doing and whatever your thinking about doing is going to get you killed.' the witch souted through the door  
'well if oyu wont talk about the takers can you at least tell us why you live out ehre  
and why everyone calls oyu a witch  
KATIE  
what she ahs a right to know what people say' katie replie. the door unlocked and draged open.   
i know hwat people say about me.' persing her lips and scanning the group she heaved a sigh and planted her plam in her face. for a few moments before mumbling 'god help me...very well. come inside.' upon entering they were greated by a large dog with pointed ears and a bark equally as big as its bite. the witch let out a short sharp hiss at the dog and it resumed its statuesque composure. ' fraid i dont have many places to sit.  
nic curled up on a cleanish spot on the floor near the dog next to the fire place. katie took the wobbly chair at the clutterd dining table and liz perchered herself on a stool near a window.  
'soooo how did you end up out here'  
'its quite a long story' the girls said nothing 'very well ill give you the short version...when my husband was taken i went to the council and demanded that they do something.'  
'what did they say to that"  
"they said that my husband was dead and they dont send rescue parties for dead men.'  
'how did you handle that'  
'i called mayor preston a coward and threw hot tea in her lap. i clawed the men who tried to carry me out o fht ebuilding and broke a window with my boot on the way out. that was when they dubbed me -'  
'a danger to society.'  
'my reputation precedes me  
so if youre not a witch whats with all the  
macabre decorations  
the takers may be dangerous but they are men all the same and men are supersticious creatures. few animal bones so bastardized runes some dried blood and BAM im untouchable to the takers  
why didnt the council think of that  
becasue they are narrowminded short sighted fools  
have takers ever come here  
of course but i dont usually let them leave. there was a heavy silence. witch or no this woman was one to be reckoned with


	16. Fresher Than A Faded Photograph

flopped in her usual arm chair liz traced over a painting of a room of ballet dancers. one line bluring intot he next as the dancers in the picture moved about the stage  
a knock came on hte door, only one person ever knock at grandperes house  
come in katie  
afternoon liz  
afternoon, kate why do you still knock  
its polite  
god blass you katie  
"so i was in the town hall archives today" Katie opened pulling out a chair and setting some beloved book or other on the table in front of her   
"archives?" Liz replied with a furrowed brow  
"yeah, their in the basement." Katie answered nonchalantly.  
"basement!? I thought I knew every cranny of that tedious building"  
"yes, well perks of being the librarian any how, I found something of note."  
"go on"  
"remember how I told you that the towns founder johnathan Preston made the final decision to settle here."  
"yes."  
"well...guess who his child was." Katie handed over an old photo pointing to a small child in the lower right hand  
"oh my god! that's Mayor Preston!"  
"uh hu."  
"shes from the original settlement?!"  
"guess shes older than she looks"  
"she cant be more than 8 here"  
"how long has she been mayor"  
"as long as I've been alive"  
"well your not exactly old" Katie retorted  
"true, but i thought she married into the Preston family."  
"so did I."  
"god just when i thought that woman couldn't get any more peculiar."  
"well if shes from the original settlement then she must have...some useful information." Katie suggested, ever the optimist  
"yes, but are you going to waltz up to ostrich mayor and ask her personal questions. she'd brandish you an 'Unwell' and sentence you to live in the forest with the Witch."  
"oh Elizabeth!"  
"what?"  
"the Unwells aren't that bad."  
"oh my lord Kate, i know but that's not the point."  
"then what is?"  
"information holder or no, we can NOT talk to mayor P about this."  
"i suppose your right.  
"Katie..."  
"yes.  
"if she asks after our comings and goings you...know you cant tell her about any of this correct."  
"i do but the execution of that is much easier said than done."  
"ugh! my dear you are going to be the death of me."  
"im trying to keep you from dying. someone has to play your conscious   
"i have a conscious, a very loud one and even it thinks your off your rocker for the bottomless well of trust you have in people."


	17. Open a Window And In Flu...

a week after their visit to the witch the ladies were still chewing on the things the witch had told them. each girl rolling the words around in their head. all quietly coming to the same conclusion. none yet willing to speak the inevitable aloud they all kept casual about the horse pill topic of what to do with the takers. while the women procrastinated confronting the uncomfortable. mother nature made the most of her spare time and influenza struck the valley like a plague. the minute hospital was full past compacity and homes through out the valley had been quarentined. school was cancled and even church was post poned. those religious enough to care held private family services to compinsate. lest god should be so crule as to not excusse familial illness. for nearly a month the town was locked in by this infamous, non caporial foe. as with all illnesses it was non discriminate in its distrbution. the rich fell ill as easily as the sick and some who seemed immune would suddenly fall ill and in some instances fall dead.   
cheyanne caught it early and it clung to her like cold on snow but chey is nothing if not resiliant. pestalince coiled around her like an adder waiting for her to reach the depths of her mortal weakness. yet, of all the people who seemed surely marked for death Cheyanne pulled through. her delerious fever breaking the last week of that month. she was on her feet and helping int he hospital before one could flip the page on a calander. not all had her luck, shannon my mothers longtime ladies maid seemed well enough then after a seemingly mundane day she fell horridly ill. incompasititaed by fever blood seeping from her nose, skin yellowed and thin she passed in her sleep some 3 nights later. as was custom when a natural death occured, or a non taking death rather. it was custom to hang a grey cloth over ones deck lamp. full mourning was required by everyone in the family and expected for every close friend. sooty grey from head to foot. no cotton or silk garments. no music and certainly no dancing. when it came time to care fore the body, the O' sahwunaseys delt with it themselves. stating they couldnt bare the thought of some stranger being the last person to care for their belove'd. she was bathed and dressed by her husband, wrapped in a hand sewed shroud by her daughter and carried to the grave by her son. all participated in covinging the lantern or 'drapping the grey' as it was called. the family was barred from heavy labour for a week. and as they were just this side of family we had no issue with caring for our own home while they truged through their sudden and unexpected loss.  
before the month was out 15 domicials had been striped of at least one family member


	18. Bigger Problems In The World

unlacing her boots in the foyer she beat as much mud off of them as she could. huffing a sigh at besubbered look of her shoes. padding through the house in her socks she amde her way to the servents wing a single string of 4 rooms and a bathroom all seperated from the kitchen by a small mud room. making her way towards the third bedroom she found its door ajar and its space occupied by two men. patricks stoic uniform and warm red hair blocked the veiw of the man but she had grown up witht he voice and would know it blind folded. the dark blue begloved hands of her brother curled in sharp contrast around the aburn locks of his footman their lips met with a depth of longing liz could only wonder at. they parted and thats when he came into veiw. her brother, smiling. not his cold venir of a smil, not the mask he wore for mom. not the practiced facial articulation. a genuine smile that started at his heart and warmed its way up to his eyes which has since lost their usual sharpness in favor of a sweet, boyish...vulnerable, roundness. patrick put a gloved hand to nicholas chest backing him up against a wall. patrick proped one of nicks legs on a near by dresser and pulled himself flush with nicholas. hands running up the sides of his torso, grazing his face like he was touching a marble statue. closing what little distance was left with a heady kiss.. fingers intertwined he slid nicks arms up the wall and over his head. thumbs dragging soft patterns across nicholasses hands. her brother broke the kiss and pushed peter away slightly. locking gazes with him for a moment nicholas weighed hs words and in their place ; held out his hands, palm up. patrick twitched back slightly looking hard into nicholases eyes.   
'please' her brother pleaded; fingers curling in on themselves with shyness. patrick stopped them, taking her brothers hands in his once again patrick pressed long kisses tot he top of nicholases hands. rememberingherself liz carefully set down the shoes near the door and tip toed away. of all the things to learn about her brother ad in all the ways. Liz had heared of such proclivities. never anticipated it in her brother but, if thats his darkest secret mores the better. there are far worse things to be than homosexual and if it meant nicholas got to smile like that liz didnt rightly care who he took his gloves off for.


	19. Every Cloud

by the time spring managed to crest the mountain and make its way down to the valley it was well into May and even though many still considered it bad luck to get married in may it was the first month out of the year where the weather was warm enough to permit the ever popular outdoor wedding. our church though still considered holy was unfathomably dull in its deportment so most engaged couples opted to wait till spring and hold the ceremony outside.   
the first wedding of the season was the Rice-Harker wedding Tabith Rice was to marry her sweetheart Phillip Harker. tabitha was a somewhat out spoken but nonetheless sweet girl who had a cute smile and a mouth like a sailor in the right company. Philip what can one say about phillip. he was a quite unassuming boy. who spoke little and smiled less but when he saw tabitha it was like the sun came out. being a carpenter philip was a man of emense physical ability but it was not his sinew that held him up right. it was tabitha; he may have been tough but she amde him strong. in return he was he sword and sheild philip owuld protect her from a taker with his bare hands if the need arose and everyone knew it. say what you want to philip bit dotn you dare speak ill of his wife and unless you ahve a death wish...leaving her unharmed was the best course of action.   
philip carved the archway they were married under and tabitha wove it with flowers she had grown. he wore his fathers suit and she wore a dress of patchwork lace constructed from the gowns of both her mother and grandmother. the assamblage was huge but none the less genuine. the reception was loud and full to bursting with food and drink. even piss faced mayor preston seemed to enjoy her self. it was a day of seemingly untouchable joy for all involved. tabitha and philip had been engaged for half a decade and everyone who knew them was drowing in jubilation at their long awaited union. the parinoid umong us waited for the worst...but it never came. even the takers let us off the hook. it had been over a season since the last visit from those spectral transiants and some opptomistic sorts even began to whisper. maybe its over maybe they have left maybe we are free.


	20. The Sins Of The Father

meet me in old town after school discretion and expeditiousness are of the utmost. it wasn't signed it didn't need to be. no one had handwriting like Katie. Liz made the familiar trek with practiced ease but she was worried none the less.  
"i got your message Katie is everything all right?"  
"no...no Elizabeth everything is most certainly not alright."  
"what? why? are you hurt?"  
"what? no, I'm fine but...oh Liz it's...how do I even start"  
"just give me some frame of reference here you could be talking about anything and the speculations are driving me mad.'  
"the...the town...THIS town...the settlement..."  
"what of it "  
"oh, Liz i think its all our fault."  
"what is Katie"  
"no, no...I cant tell you shouldn't even know and if they find out that I know then they will find out that you know and then well both be in trouble!"   
"Katie!"  
"what..."  
"troubles my middle name right?  
"Liz I cant"  
"yes, you can Katie what have I been telling you our whole lives...rules are malleable....Katie dearest talk to me."   
"it's all our fault Beth"   
liz goraned 'yes katie i understant that part now i need the rest of it!"  
"that takers....the missing people... everything..."  
"how...on gods green earth is all of that our fault"  
"well maybe not OUR fault specifically but..."  
"but what Katherine!"  
"you never call me that "  
"you never beat around the bush this much!" liz retorted  
"mayor Preston...mayor jonathan Preston..."  
"the founder...?"  
"yes"  
"what of him."  
"the records state that the settlers got caught in a blizzard on top of the mountain..."  
"okay..."  
"and when I tried to figure out how they got over the pass.."  
"yeeeaaah"  
"the records started contradicting themselves"  
"in what way"  
"the public and private records didn't match "  
"didn't match how"  
"the public records stated that 30 wagons made it over the pass "  
"but after going through the privet records I've come up with a total of 5 wagons that aren't in any records after the mountain crossing they just disappeared   
"disappeared how do you lose...oh roughly 5 people to a wagon...25 people on a wagon train. THAT CLOSE to your destination?!"  
"that's the other thing...I don't think this was where we were supposed to settle... I think crossing the mountain used up more supplies than they expected and they had no choice but to settle here."  
"why do you say that?"  
"well the public log talks about the mountain rout taking much longer than expected. and there's pages missing."  
"there's pages missing from every book though."   
"yes, and aren't you the one whos always asking why"  
"yes, but...wagons...families..don't just 'disappear' "the room fell quiet for the briefest moment "...Katie...Katie what if mayor Preston left them..."  
"like something went wrong and they became separated?...perhaps in the blizzard?"  
"maybe, but...what if it wasn't an accident...what if...what if it was a conscious choice."  
"that would be awful"  
"yes, yes it would be...and it would make those left behind...unspeakably angry   
"and in an desperate situation...oh...shit!"  
"whoa! you never swear"  
"i know but i was really hoping you wouldn't com to the same conclusion as i did."  
"that..." neither of them wanted to say it out loud neither of them wanted to make it real   
"if you two wont say it i will"  
"oh by GOD! Cheyenne, you scared me to death"   
"not to be dramatic but death will be the least of our worries if anyone finds out that we know they left them behind...and now...the abandoned families...have come back to haunt us.   
"god if this ever got out"  
"they'd tie us to the reaping post and leave us for dead or worse" Cheyenne spat  
"don't say that "  
"they would! without blinking!"  
"that's for criminals"  
"and that's what we would become. if this ever got out it would ruin them...and if their parentage are the ones that left them behind in the first place the apple wouldn't have to fall to far from the tree for them to string us up like lambs for slaughter.  
"all that blood on their hands..."  
"they've kept it a secret for this long what makes you think they would stop now. "  
"you don't think they would really cuff us would you"  
"oh hell yes I do and they would too. they'd drum up some false accusation and they'd leave us for the takers. "  
but where   
where just kids   
if they were willing to leave behind entire families that means they ahve no problem killing womena dn children  
guy...something i cant get out of my head...  
yeah  
if they were left up there...they no doubt ran out of supplies...how...are they still alive  
the room fell sickingly silent as they all added up the nauseating equation layed out before them  
ca...  
canabalism.  
oh god...  
no wonder people never come back  
cheyanne  
you were all thinkng it im just saying it.if they are kidnapping people those people and dragging up the mountain. were their main food soource  
but why would they do that. if we can hunt so can they  
maybe some dont want to.  
oh thats gouhlish   
the turth often is...


	22. Things That Go Bump In The Night

the sharp scratch of a dry throat woke her from her sleep. groping grogily at the end table she found an empty space whate a glass of water usually sat  
'dammn it' she mumbled. draging her hand across her face she pulled her self out fo bed, slid on her slippers and began the long shuffle tot he kitchen. as she rounded the landing of the stairs; taking care not to wake her mother, she was halted by a silent yawn. this is when she saw it. a streak of grey across her vision. liz froze and looked around...nothing...no one. just...a trick of the light. none the less she gripped tighter to her fighting wand and tip toed down the stairs checking every funny corner. the mandetory window coverings barred all moonlight from illuminating hte house. liz moved from memory; the only assistance,a single muted oil lamp in the middle of the foyer. stopping at the end of the stairs she semmed to be alone. banishing the gouls from her mind she padded to the kitchen with just enought light see in sillouhets. setting her baton on the counter she fetched a glass and filled it with water. standing in front of the sink raising the glass to her lips she glanced at the window in frontof her. the spectral play of light on the glass halted her. seeing drakness where she knew she should see light Liz lowered the slass and slowly turned her head towards a now near by sound of someone breathing. terror stricken she turned towards an ashen face, eyes red from mal nutrition. she opened her mouth to scream but found her throat near closed with fear. bringing the glass up to the takers head it landed with a sharp crack like lightning hitting pavement. running around the kitchen islna dshe drew air to sound the alarum but was tackled from the side by a less than stunted taker. hitting the ground hip first, rolling onto her back on the decent, head bouncing off of the floor. the taker straddled her waist and smiled a toothey pale gumed smile. agains she attempted tot call out but the sound got lost between the annles of her throat and the ringign in her ears. as she fought under the -presuming- man on top of her he took a length of rope from a small puch on his hip and slipped an en around her throat. joining the two ends in his fist he wound the rope around his hand untill his knuckles could touch her neck. as the make shift garrot tightened around her throat she fought to stay focused. fingers going numb from lack of oxygen. she felt around untill her tingling hands met something cold and heavy. gtipping it with all her remaining tensile strength she brought the small cast iron pan up to his temple. kocking him to the floor. gasoing for air as his grip loosened she rolled up sitting back on her feet liz broguht the pan down wherever her shaking hands could land a blow. she swung heavy and frantic. feeling something warm and wet splash against her face, hands, and clothes. she did not stop untill she couldnt breath. lettign go of the pan; her lungs heaving, her feet slipping on somehting she didnt want to ponder she pitched her self towards the rope next to the front door. damp hands gripped the length of hemp and tugged and tugged and tugged untill all she oculd hear was the sound of ringing bells.  
her brother was the first person down stairs. his hands appearing, seemingly, out of no where bolting the extra locks  
'ill get the windows'  
at the sound of her family footsteps down the stairs. the strength went out of ehr legs. he father said soemthing to her but it dint sink it it went through her ears but didnt make it all the way to ehr brain. she couldnt feel her limbs but she could feel the blood drying on her suddenly cold skin.  
nicholas and their father lifted the mostly unresponsive blood splattered liz to the safe space in their kitchen. as they carried her lizs eyes were draw to the light coming through a nearby window.   
lights. porch lights. street lights. lights strung across streests hangign in metal cups with a long straight wire run through the top. the street and neighbooring homes were flooded with light and before the men hefted liz down the steps she was quite sure she caught a glipse of a burning brushe pile on the forests edge  
these shadow beings were left without their hiding place


	23. What You Least Expect

the takers always come at night. when were least prepared. if we know nothing else about the takers we know they come at night. that the one thing we can count on., or so we htought. it was a bleak and blustery in november. this high in the mountains snow hart already made its icey enterance. a thick layer dampening every surface it could reach. it was buisness as usual untill the bell rang. at first everyone froze unsure fo what to make of the earily familiar sound at such an unexpected time of day. just when we had all convinced ourselves it was a false alarm. a large rock came through the window sending wood and glass ricocheting into the room. now people couldnt leave fast enough. everyone pushing and shoving out the narrow door. knowing she was more likely tobe crushed under foot than make it out of the room if she tried the door liz summoned every drop of madness she could muster and climbed out the window into the courtyard. sparing ehrself a second to take stock. form the panoramic position liz could see the takers chasing people all around the inside of the school. just as her brain began to curl in on itself. a hand grabbed her shoulder. liz brought down her brandished baton as hard as she could  
ow liz  
oh ym goodness chey, ive got to find katie.   
katie is at the library shell be fine now come on weve got to go  
chey   
liz your no use to anyone dead now come on"   
as they rounded the edge of the school they were spotted by a hunchbacked grey skinned underbitten person. who bolted in their direction.   
the balcony  
what  
the church back door liz huffed as they ran as fast as they could manage. chey stopped long enough to load and loose a sharp stone from her sling it hit their pursuer center mass   
run liz took cheys hand and led her towards a familiar but often forgotten back door to the church. it lead through the mud room to a thin door hidden by forgoten coats. the narrow stairs lead to the sunken balcony overlooking the church. finding the space welcomingly silent. both girls flopped on the carpeted floor and huffed for breath. less than 5 minutes had passedbefore thier solace and saftey was disturbed. elizabeth and cheyan both rolled onto their stomachs.  
stay low' cheyanne mouthed. liz nodded peering over the edge of the balconys railed wall. stomachs still hugging the floor. five takers dragged in a middle aged mother and her adolescent son.chyanne had seen them but elizabeth knew them. the two women watched on as the takers batted the trappings off of the alter. heaving the boy ontot eh table they bound his limbs to that of the table and ripped open his shirt. liz oppend her mouth to do...something and chey girpped her jaw clentched eyes direct. her face affirming the nauseating truth that it was them or us and even if they did try to interveine chances are they would outnumber us and kill the family anyways. it was let the events play out or see ones on path end here. on taker stpeed forward with a knife and cuta chunk of flesh from behind hte boy ear using this as a strting point he cut or, rather tore a swath of skin from there down the boys neck over his chest and stomach presumably ending somewhere near his thigh. the boy some how managed to speak through his screams. his question of 'where is the saviour' bounding off of the hollow church walls. his mothers wails mixed with his own as the takers skinned the pubescent boy alive. after the first strip the girls averted thier eyes and covered their ears as best they could. ther creaking staris and unoiled door would make too much noise. theyr were stuck in this bascillica of torture untill the screaming stopped. the keening pitch of it still ringing intheir ears long after they managed to sneak away. there are a great many things elizabeth and cheyanne never talk about this is one of them. they scurried to teh old mans house in silence the sounds of the now dead still thrumming in thier ears  
without further ado they bolted for the GrandPeres house. scurrying down into the root celler thet had been throughly stocked with food, medicine and weapons.  
do oyu think any of them saw us  
lord i hope not' thence came 5 rhythmic taps on the door and 2 on the floor. peaking thie heads out of the celler the girls where met with familira faces.  
Jacque! have you seen katie.  
katies, waht no i havent but im glad both of you are alright  
i have to go find aktie  
liz thier still out there  
all the more reason i need to find her  
give it a half and hour at least  
wait for the bell to ring  
it may be too late by then  
lizzie the library is built with a safe space...just like all other public buildings. shell be fine.  
but what if  
dotn play the what if game with me elizabeth now hold oyur horses and wait for the bell  
\-------------  
on her way to the library liz spotted a familiar shock of grey hair heading towards the infermary  
Mrs. Holder  
elizabeth" her eyes where puffy and her hands, unsteady.  
is everyone alright...is declin alright." his mother said nothing but took lizs hand and lead her toa room on the side wall of the infermary. where equally familar black hair peaked through thisck bandeges. liz stopped dead. waht happened?"  
a taker broke in. declin tried to stop him.' her words caught in her throat.' caught one of theri blades.' as liz walked closer the sight of the wound could be seen in the tainted copper outline seeping its way throught hte bandage. the taker must have been right handed swing his blade across declins face. from the near crest of his cheek under the cornere of his left eye across the lower maliable portion of his nose. narrowly missing his lip and stopping near the bottom of the opposing cheek. its missed his eyes and his mouth but he must have lost so much blood. liz already swimming witht he events of the day refused to let the full weight of this hit her now. this was tragic but she could do nothing ot improve it. being left with no other choice she moved on  
mrs h.   
yes my dear  
have you seen katherine anywhere  
katherine the 'actress'  
no maam the librarian  
on im sorry  
its alright weve all had a shock but have you seen her   
im sorry i cant say that i have" liz swollowed hard im sorry mrs holder i would love to sit with you but there is someone unaccounted for  
goodness, carry on ill be fine there taking good care of us.  
it was mid day and katie was still absent. the boulder of terror and worry now throughly loddged it self in her stomach. she had to find katie. without a word of explination liz picked up her bag, slung it over her head and bounded off in the direction of the librarians cottage. reaching the humble abode in record time liz was halted in the gate way by the sight of katies incognazant brother . holding a long flat box. both persons froze at the sight of the other. neither wanting to close the distnace and confirm the worst  
matther...  
is katie with you liz  
if she was with me she would be here did you check the library  
her keys are still here' matthew replied. numbly presenting the jangling object hangign off his fingers. Lizs vision went hazy. a sharp, distant, yet omnipresant ringing had filled her ears. her legs went numb and her hands tingled. the ground grew closer than it had been moments before. shw saw feet -shoes- in front of her. dopey shoes, matthews shoes. then a box, a black box with a small paper note and words in cursive. a name, my name in katies handwrighting -k atie, katie, where is katie. the box is in my hands. water, watrer on my face...tears. the lid is off...gloves, white lace gloves with pearls and a note 'stay out of trouble' -katherine. Liz curled in on herself witha craggy wail. hands, diffrent hands, large hands, Barthallemew. arms, carrying, tea set, living room, katie...where is katie.  
\-------------------------  
stomping throught the muddy trail liz stepped of the bell string past the dog and straing to the door. bones reverbarating with the force of her knocking.  
hypatia. HYPATIA  
what girl.  
you ahve to tell me how to get to the takers  
what  
they took katie i need to get her back you have to tell me the qquickest way to the takers  
are oyu out of your bloddy mind im not going to telly ou wehre they are id only be sending you to your death  
i dont care i have to try  
do you hear yourself right now! come on inside ill make you some camomille tea  
i dont want your fucking tea i want to go rescue my friend now either you help me or ill find someone else who will.  
elizabeth theres nothing you could do even if oyu oculd get to themt hey would outnumber you 10 -1 its a bitter pill but your friend is gone' at this lizs swung her arm out batting the contence of an end table across the room  
goddamn it i cant hear this form you. the whole reason you live out here is beacause you refused to stop fighting for the person you loved. i will NOT give up on her that easy  
liz they kill you  
are you going to help me or not woman  
oi!' hypatia rapped her staff against he stone floor with a gun like crack 'youre in my house GIRL and if you hope to get so much as a goodbye from me you will show me respect


	24. Cool Motive Still Murder

how could she leave us...i thought she was my friend. why didnt she say anything.  
unsuprisingly the food is running short and the rates of illness and fatigue are high. oh that prestonw ould have waited...i reckon if Mavis had asked him to he owuld of...why did she...why did they abandon us  
peter passed in his sleep last night. mother hasnt said a word. she knows what we have to do but i think its hit her the hardest...i think it may come to drawing straws...maybe we can ask someone else to do it for us...no...its our familes sin...black as pitch it is. if that coward mavis had spoken up we would have made it down the mountain...we could have done it if we ahd the whole party...they left us to die...she loved peter like a sibling how could she do this. i dont want to do it i dont want to...i think i owuld reather starve...considering how near that reality is...its either do it or die...the spring is coming on achingly slow and the animals havent returned...theres no meat left no plants and even the non perishables have all but run out.  
it was done without words. no one made eye contact. dad was the one that did it. he dosent know i watched. i hate how it feels to be full from such a meal. oh god my family shall carry this sin to our graves.  
we finished digging out the mine shaft today. its dark and cold but its better than spending another day sleeping in the open. i worry about bugs and other vermin. it almost makes me laugh...being bothered by something so trivial when i have seen all that i ahve.

mothers is concouling another crying woman...the empty has set in. the youngest umong us i scarce a child anymore and those women who are grown ahve ceaced thier monthly bleed. leaving nothing but barren wombs in its wake.

fathers getting worse veryday. we both know he will die soon. but today he said soemthing that has given me the most grim hope for our future. father laid out his plan. the thing he had been working on isnc before he found the cave. today during our visit he drew me in close and told me  
wait till i am dead. and wait even still. wait till they ahve forgotten all about us. and then give them soemthing to remember us by. he laid out his plan int he most sane and intricate detail. he plan is macabre for certain but after waht preston and the rest of the wagon train have done...they left us with little choice.   
this is the last page in this journal...when we stared this journery...i knew it was dangerous but...i never anticipated all the ways the devil could concive to tourture a human soul...oh the things that have transpired since our leaving home...i had expected to reach the ocean by now...but what is point. i am not the person i was than how can i strive for a goal taht was set by a person i no longer know...my choice in the ocurse of my life was taken they day they left. first brother was taken then mother and now father is gone. that foolhardy vainglorius Preston...has taken everything from me...so i shall take everything form them...i shall wait...coiling like an adder in the shadow of their forgetfull self absobshion. my retaliation shall be like the last plague of Egypt. silent lethal and apocolyptic and they will never see it coming.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
his last act of revenge would not be one of blood but of madness. like a child learning to swim he went a little further each time. inching his way closer with every trip.first to the base of the mountain then to the valley floor thence to the treeline and onward ot the edge of town. over the place where the childs wall would later stand. soon he was on preston street then at his gate and after that it was nothing to make his way inside. no pets, servents in seperated quarters, children in theri own wing and sposes sleeping seperated. prston was so perfectly gifted wrapped hie mat as well have had a bow on his head in place of a night cap. he would paint his skin wiht ash. don the last serviving set of clothes left from the wagon train, he would become prestons coporial re occuring night mare. visiting him at night without warning and mumble omens of a bloody future in his ear wilst he slept. he broke into his house and snuck into his subconciouse.now he was there. presont or no preston could not escape him now. sleeping or waking. his nauseating whispers resonated in prestons ears like the sound of hsattering glass. his slithering voice cracked ther ought he safe spaces in prestons mind and left him no place to hide. now, no matter how preston met his end. he will have played a part in his deteriaration. by gnawing away at teh stability of his psyche this lion has rended this antelope lame.  
\-----  
which one of oyu did it.' the hollow kings fist met with the side of the nearest quasis face. 'which one of oyu drank my water!? i saw your careless footprints and your grubby hand marks so ill ask again. which one of you brainless apes drank from my well!!"a quasi with a curved spine inclined forward. the king walked to him. "did you know you were drinking from my well' he asked pushing a neighbooring quasi out of the way. stepping aside the hunched man he gripped his shoulder with adamantine force. the lopsidded boy nodded nervously. "do you know wht happens to those who drink from my sprin." the king contined putting all his weigth on the boys shoulder till he leaned, hiss full weight on one foot. the youth nodded again. biting his lip. hands fumbling dumbly the king nodded his reply befor losing his cleaver fromhis hip and embedded it in the boys achillies tendon. the poor creature burst out in pain colapsing to the floor in front of the king "ignorance i can forgive but willful disobediance i can not abide.' landing a thudding kick to the downed boys jaw the hollow king motioned to a near by gent who was tasked with holding the kings perilous pet.  
sir.  
unhook the lead  
sir?  
didi i stutter you simpilton unclasp the lead or you will join him  
yes sir.  
the mountain lion needed no training no command it smelt the blood and went for the throat. the quasi was dead before the minute had passed.  
\----  
there she stood mavis in all but name. her features unsettling in their similarities. her hair the same shade of chestnut brown. not a twin not a doppelganger but matching mavis enough in countinance to pull and previously forgotten feelings for this long abandoned playmate. looking to the gent behind her he nodded curtly and left the room. he entered his alcove with his pulse in his ears. though the terrriably terchery was never far from his mind he ahd all but forgotton of the friend who became unmistakeable from a foe. the memory of their friendshipp; left to rot on a shelf in the back of his mind. the blatantly terrified girl was dragged around the alcoves false wall. kicking and clawing and spitting but to no avail. the Quasis holding her were far stronger than she and the gent escorting htem simply didnt care. the Quasis tossed the girl to the floor lowered into the customary bow and left without a word.  
'will sir be needing anything else" the gent asked   
"no, she will more than suffice."  
oh mavis  
my names not mavis sir its mary, mary white halll  
white hall  
yes my father build the church  
why would that be ofany intrest to me  
my fathers a very wealthy man any sum you ask you will receive.  
i dont want your money. no the time for barganing has long since past.how old are oyu mz whitehall?  
ill be 17 in june  
even being ill with a touch of the mountains curse he was still stronger than the girl. despite her protestations he made quick work of her simple layers of clothing. she fought him every step but something in him relished it. her struggle made her submission all the more prurative. though he could feel his pulse in his finger tips his body remained as unresponsive as a corpse.  
rage ran through him like the seams in a mountain. cross cutting through every fiber all the way down to his toes. this hellish place had taken EVERYTHING from him even the one thing men were supposed to be turn to omni present repreive. even this last inch of normalcy was stripped from him.he was not free from prestons punishment even now. even in such personal matters he was not safe from mavises short comings. its all their fault. its all mavis' fault. its all her fault. he corsetted his ahnds areound the girls throat squeezing untill his fingers went numb. but the thing still drew breath. he tore his crude belt from his hips and slid it around its neck. gorotting the struggling thing untill the flintching and clawing had sputtered to a stand still.releasing the flat eyed creature from his snare. anger susceding from his brain he found vitality returened to teh previously dedened extremity. heaving the still warm body to his make shift bed. he took from it in death what he couldnt in life. after using the now limp thing in every way he could currently conceive he laid back, satiated. now what to do with the body. flesh as fine as this hould not go to waste. the idea of one of the quasis hacking and clawing at what was his made his stomach turn; but there was something else inching its way to the front of his mind.  
'what have you done. how could you do this, how oculd you enjoy that, why would you do that. the tsunami of anxiety overwhelmed him as his long banished consiouse reared its guilt indusing maw. his breathign raced. his pounded uncomfortably in his ears and now the thing he had found releife in moments before was now staring at him dead and cold. her once warm eyes now glazed. looking into the eye of the body he and thusly defiled filled him with a blood chilling coldness. as if he weregazing through the very barrier between world. like the haze in her eye was the only veil seperating the living from the dead. at this contemplation an entirely new sensation took root in the shadowed crevases of his psyche. if such a thin line is all that seperates them from us her from me. what a thing it is that 'I' am still alive. this sickening sense of victory started to chace away the unwanted cloistering fog of remorse. now an entirely deviant thought came forth. if i could do that...why stop there. he built a small fire in the pit at the center of his room. dragging the body off the bed he lay it in the dirt around the fire. taking his knife he began slicing off peices and roasting them at will cutting away a limb when bone became exposed. sounds hissed up from the dead girls cooking flesh. he relished the sound of the crackling skin and popping of fat.   
"now she can never leave." he thought to himself. now sated he dragged the dismembered body to a cold back corner close to the mountain wall. draping a cloth over th corpse he rinsed off, changed garments and carried on with his day. renewed by his continued domination over the omnipresent god of death.


	25. A Third Party Heard From

why do we have to go through with this WHY  
because i made a promise to father  
your father is dead jeptha and what your talking about is just going to add more bodies to the pile  
better theirs than ours  
and thats the crux of it isnt it! you dont care how many bodies you have to walk on as long as you dont let your daddy down. well do i have news for you dear. your father was a violent deranged man who enjoyed seeing other people in pain  
shut your mouth. you have no idea the kind of descisions my father had to make that all fathers have to make  
oh dont i. need i remind you i walked into this mountain with a son and where is he now jeptha. where is he. what happened to him  
you didnt try hard enough  
did..try...didnt dry hard enough how dare you i did everything i could  
NO no you didnt you just say that so oyu can sleep easy at night  
what makes you think i sleep easy. you think i could sleep easy after the things ive seen  
we  
what  
the things weve seen. ive done as much as you and more.   
if you think you know every sordid deed this horrid place has pushed me to your even more foolish than i thought...jeptha oyu cant do this  
i can and i will and oyu will either help me or i swear your blood will spill first  
\-------  
i will not   
you will  
there are other options  
none as avaliable as this.   
ive had my fill of human flesh if its all the same to you  
do you know what i had to do to for this  
murder, again  
i would ahve to kill no matter what sort of meat i bring to the table. why is the life a human more important than that of a deer or a rabbit or a bear. the human was the the first thing to cross my path it was this or anothers days seach and the inevitability of an empty stomach  
i would rather that than this  
would you? would you really! fine if starvation seems more apatizing then go ahead starve. see how long you can stand it. see how well all that willpower will works for you.  
\------  
eat or die. youve been here before and you brought yourself here of your own free will. with trembling hands she reached for the plate of human remains. jeptha batted her hand away. picking up a slice of oily meat he held it infront of her face and raised an eye brow. she elaned forward to toake a bite. jeptha pulled it away. holding it low  
down." teressa flinched at the barked command, but slid ot the floor none the less, head inching forward. teeth reaching for the hunk of muscle. "uh uh uh...come." he held the skin right next to his knee. teressa crawled forward eyes dragging in the dirt underneith her. turning up his hand he rested the slab of flesh in his plam. 'eat.' jeptha growled. with a body racked with trembles teressa consumed the now cold sinew with all the joy of patient mid root canal. "good girl." jeptha purred. stroking the hair of his shaking queen.


	26. Bring The Mountain To Mavis

he possesed an unexpected strength; with his sinews stiched with rage, his advanced years hardly seemed a factor. the two dragged him through the double doors of the town hall. the gasps where more than audiable... they dragged the fearsome if not aged leader down the great hall and dropped him at the feet of mayor preston. here eyes widened slightly but the emotion was swiftly quelled and replaced with her usual comically persed lips.  
"its been a long time mavis" he grumbled, eyes still downturned  
"excuse me" mayor preston replied squinting incredulously   
"i said..."the man raised his head locking eyes with mayor preston "its been a long time Mavis."  
"jeptha..."  
\------  
my father  
your father left us there to die your father had oregon fever and wasnt going to let the lives of several dozen men women and children get in his way   
my...my fath  
was a murdere. he signed our death warrents the day he led out the wagon train.   
he thought you would catch up in a few days  
you ignorant cow. he knew you all knew there was no way we would make it once the snow bank set in." the man lept forward hovering inches from mayor prestons "do you wanna know what i got for my 10th birhtday Mavis...a dinner party...the main course was a stew..." he leaned in his nacrotic breath ghosting over her ears "made from the meat of my little brother"  
"you filthy disgusting liar." mayor preston blurted shoving him to the floor.   
"awww wahts teh matter mavis dont want to hear what happened to your dear sweet peter."  
he was just a child  
all the more reason he had no buisniess being up on that mountain. you loved him like a little brother and you did...nothing when your family left us there  
waht was i supposed to do i was younger than you where  
oh dont play the age game you were old enough to know fatality when it looked you in the face  
'what did you want me to do jepth!?!  
'ANYTHING. ANYTHING. ANYTHING. you were your fathers favorite if oyu had asked him to wait he would of...you could ahve saved us...but oyu couldnt find the guts to state the obvious. you were so good at it the rest of the time why could you say SOMETHING when it mattered. why didnt you at least try' the hollow king raised his knee and setting his near, bare soiled feet agains the side of the table he soved forward. angrily pushing the table into the mayors gut. launching him back; slightly. water glasses rockign to the floor clattering dramatically on the hardwood below. preston shot from their seat and bolted for the door with a horrified look on thier face  
thats right run you coward its the only thing your good at" the jab was followed by the cracking of fist meeting flesh.   
"dont you dare speak to my mother that way  
"i owuld follow her" i familiar gruff voice sounded from the front of the room" bruce raised himself up on his good leg and looked baby preston in the face "cuz i reckon she was the only thing keeping you from being cuffed." with this blunt statement bruce had knocked edward preston back to his surroundings. his shoulders rolled in on themselves as he tallied hte number of unfriendly eyes on him. turning on a dime and stumbling over a fallen chair the duckling preston trailed after his mother. "now what about this bastard" bruce shouted.  
liz bit her lip "i dont think thats my call."  
"then whos is it. chey questioned  
"its Faylynns." liz replied. ther was a moment of silence that elizabeth took for aquiesance. yes everyone hated the hollow king but...almost no one had the stomach for it and out of those that did only one had really earned the right. turning to the chainmaker elizabeth pointed and inquired "could you bring the chopping block from your refinery."  
"sure, where."  
"center of town should be sufficient."  
"aye miss." with a saluting tap to his forehead he carried out his errand.  
oh and smith  
yea miss  
bring an axe.  
aye  
liz could feel the shift in the hollow king. he knew what was comming and somehting in him told her he was past the point of fighting.  
\-------  
the chainmaker handed the axe to liz who walked it over like a gilded cepter to faylynn  
why me  
i think oyu know" faylynn took the axe in her hand. testing its weigth, examining its edge. fiddling with the deadly weapon killing time as she pondered her next move. before she could attempt to make an excuse. bruce stepped foreward.   
you ever killed anyone befor" he asked, foresythy shook her head. "then why start now. with out needing permission bruce took the axe from faylynns hand. let an old northsman appease his old gods, eh?" faylynn nodded sahkily. hands retreating to her side.  
bruce waded over to the king. looking him in the eyes.  
anything to say?  
it was you and yours that made us like this!" the hollow king shouted eyes skating around the gathering assemblage  
"nice story, still man slaughter. ya made your peace with you god?" bruce continued. shoving the enfebled man to his knees.  
"not hardly."  
"well, not my problem you had time."bruce turned the mans head towards the mountain. to the frigid tarturus he called home. bruce an old but none the less practiced hand brought down the axe with the surity of a life long warrior. the freshly sharpened axe and the qauntlet tested soldier seperated jeptha from his hollow body. blood traced the cracks in the cobblestone cort yeard. the tendils copper stretching out the the edge of the crowd. like beclawed hands scraping for one last taking.


	27. But I Do Not Owe You A Kindness

on the horizon a group of men; draggign something in their wake. as they drew near the image became clear. mavis prestona nd her unconciouse son being dragged; struggling and pleading up to the chopping block   
'what should we do with them.' one of the men asked. it was her elizabeth became conciouse of the number of eyes and ears fixed on her. she shifted in place and felt the damp, blood soaked stone beneath her feet.   
'god what do i do, waht do i say...we cant let them go we cnat let them stay...' she thought to her self, opitons lay head of her like a pedestrian on a busy side walk. all racing by her like carriages. bluring as the shot past.  
'killing them would be the easiest.' elizabeth answered flatley. mayor preston let out a pathetic keening groan. its pitch practically dripping with despair. 'but they would learn nothing from such a quick end.'the dethrone'd mayor raised her head , eyes a mix of hope and horror. 'now ive forgotten much of my biblical recitation...by my memory for shakespear is quite acute.' mavis's face twisted in confusion  
'what has shakespear got to do with this you stupid, distractable girl.'  
'it has a great deal to do with our current situation mavis... if oyull permit me to paraphrase'  
Draw near, And list what with our council we have done. For that our kingdom's earth should not be soil'd With that dear blood which it hath fostered; And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect Of civil wounds plough'd up with neighbours' sword; Therefore, we banish you our territories: You, Edward Preston, upon pain of life, Till twice five summers have enrich'd our fields Shall not regreet our fair dominions, But tread the stranger paths of banishment. Mavis Preston, for thee remains a heavier doom, Which I with some unwillingness pronounce: The sly slow hours shall not determinate The dateless limit of thy dear exile; The hopeless word of 'never to return' Breathe I against thee, upon pain of life.  
"i dotn understand."  
'im sorry mavis was that not monosylabic enough fro you let me try another quote. on the barren mountains let them starve.' as they pulled her to the feable holding sell they called a jail. her anguished, bequetting carened in rolling echoes through the stalk still valley. 'the cries of those familes went unanswered...so will theirs' elizabeth said; more to her self than to anyone close enough to listen. heaving a sigh she tured, meeting gazes with cheyanne, they both set about the task of removing the hollow kings headless corpse. the pair ehaved the suprisingly light body onto a nead by cart.  
'i know hes called the hollow king but i expected him to be heavier.' liz stated  
'likewise' cheyanne resounded   
'well the human head weighs roughly 8-10 lbs so subtract that and and 3...morelikely 4 pints of blood loss would result in a markedly lighter dy.' katie remarked in her usual chipper way.' liz and chey stopped, looked at each other , then back at katherine.  
'this is why were freiends kate.' liz said with a smile. the group climbed onto the front of the wagon and flicked the reigns  
'where are you going'  
'out of town' the group and their corpse followed the main road out of town to the reaping post 'i dont want him visiable from the road...lets leave him in the woodline...over by that bolder.' after dispensing with the body in a place hidden from the eyes of men but not hte noses or teeth of hungry animals. the girls began the short ride home. after several moments of smothering scilence nichole voiced the question they had all been pondering  
'what do we do now.'  
'learn from their mistakes...try and do better... tahts all we can do


End file.
